I love sending postcards and letters and especially rude birthday cards. With less than RM10, I love that you can make someone feel special in such a simple way. There’s really nothing more special than snail mail from the other side of the planet, despite Facebook messages, Whatsapp, emails and the rest of the lot.
I often find that I struggle with words, figuring out what to say to the people I’m sending them to. It is sort of ironic since I write for work and run a travel blog (I’m using the word “run” rather loosely here, you fake it till you make it and all that jazz.) But I love sending them with big fat I love yous and I miss yous written all over them. I might not be eloquent in my letter writing, but I know that my recipients appreciate them anyway.
I don’t always remember to take pictures and let’s face it, I’m not that great at taking photos to begin with. I find myself acting really awkward in front of a camera and often get annoyed behind one when I don’t get a shot I imagined in my mind.
There are also moments where I am simply lost in awe and wonder that I forget to whip out my camera. So I thought I’d write some of them down before my crappy memory robs me of some truly precious moments.
1. Dancing with incredible women around the world
From Bali to KL to Porto to Barcelona, I’ve danced till the lights come on, till the last song ends. I’ve shared these dance floors with women from all the globe and they’ve been a delight. Smart and funny, incredibly interesting and more importantly, super silly on the dance floor – my kind of women. I hope to meet you ladies again someday. Continue reading
My first one-month anniversary on my first ever long-term solo trip was spent in Stockholm. I decided to treat myself to dinner at a fancy place opposite my terrible hostel and it was delicious. I remember sitting at the bar with two women next to me, looking fabulous and stylish while I was in my sneaker-leather-jacket-hoodie combo. I remember taking my Kindle out at the bar, reading while having dinner with a glass of white wine.
What I remember the most about that night was feeling so proud of myself having survived a month on my own, but also feeling tired and spent and almost bored. Despite being in a new place almost twice a week, sometimes more, I was getting bored because I had fallen into a routine. I felt like an ungrateful brat but I was getting tired of walking tours, churches, walking tours, parks, walking tours, stunning lookout points, markets, rewind. Continue reading
I spent the weekend washing my clothes, finishing up my food and packing for my two-week trip to Lisbon and Lyon!
As I put on my clothes that I had meticulously planned out, threw on my hoodie and coat like I used to a whole year ago and lifted up my backpack with a little jiggle so that it sits nicely on my shoulders, the rush of excitement kicked in and I know with crystal clear certainty that this is what I live for. Continue reading
I went to bed at 4.30am last night but found my exhausted body shaken to consciousness by my anxious mind. Go to bed, my tired body says, but I can’t. My mind is like a war zone, with thoughts flying left, right and centre, like bullets coming at me, making me scared for what the future might hold.
At one point, I almost cry because I’m terrified.
I’ve been thinking about this for the past few days, this growing fear as the date for my departure slowly arrives. There’s a little excitement, but there’s also more fear than before. And sadness. Being back home for a year has definitely got me used to quite a few things, like the comfort of my bed, my mum’s incredible soups, the certainty of a jam going into KL or Bangsar, the immaculate taste of a cold brew at Thursdvys, the silliness of new found friends and warmth of someone’s hug. In other words, familiarity and security.
I especially love beach holidays because of the sun and the sea. From the beaches in Croatia to Bali to the ones in Malaysia, there’s something incredibly calming about the crashing waves. It’s always a treat to be able to fall asleep under a tree in the afternoon sun, serenaded by the sound of waves and seagulls.
It is also on these beaches that I find my insecurities exposed. The beach is where perfect gym-trained bodies are wrapped in thin strips of cloth (read bikinis), where beautifully sun-kissed human beings dot the coast with their beach waves and pimple-free skin. It is where my self-esteem plummets beyond the ground. I think it is also interesting that my idea of beautiful very closely resembles what the West preaches, but that’s a conversation for another day. Continue reading
I think voluntourism does more harm than good, but I’m going on one anyway. Here’s why.
The organisation I’m going with is Women of Will and they aim to support women who are the sole breadwinners of their families, usually caring for three to seven children. These women are single mothers, war widows or women whose husbands are disabled. They help women in Malaysia, Sri Lanka and Nepal.
The organisation equips these women with entrepreneurial skills and develops them to become the core pillars of their families and sometimes, even their communities. After going through the training programme, the women are given micro-loans to start their businesses, accompanied by mentors throughout the process. The loan is repaid within 12 months at 0% interest and the money is recycled into the system. It can now help another woman and her family. Continue reading
Today is the 50th day since getting robbed and I’m glad to let everyone know that things have been put back as it should be. I’ve got a new phone, I’ve replaced my IDs and driver’s licences and sorted everything out with the banks. The only irreplaceable items are my student card from university and a deep purple Rimmel eyeliner which they no longer sell (oh my first world problems).
On my first day back in KL, I ended up having dinner with another solo traveller extraordinaire. After telling him what had happened in Bali, he responded with a nonchalant “Well, none of this will matter in 3 months”. To my surprise, it took less than 50 days for the incident to stop having its effect on me. Continue reading
When I heard about the attack in Brussels about an hour ago, the first person who came to mind was the incredibly friendly man at the information desk at the airport. I was on a my way to Russia and had a layover in Brussels for a night.
As usual, I was lost and needed to find the bus station and also made a very lame joke, to which he laughed and made an even lamer comeback. I remember his chubby face, cheerful smile and curly grey hair.
I hope, with all my heart, that he’s okay.
I think about it for a second and do it because the waves are pulling me out and I’m scared. “HELP!!”
Ooh, what a juicy start to this story. Let’s rewind a little to give you more context.
It’s day 4 or 5, it’s so easy to lose track of time here. I’m better now, I’m not scared. Plus, I’ve moved to a quieter part of Bali called Seminyak and everything is lovely. I’ve been to the beach a few times already, and have even watched the sunset while a local band serenaded me.
I wake up bright and early and make a beeline for the beach. I want to swim in the ocean today. I’ve admired it from afar for a while now, only going as far as my thighs. I’m short so when the waves hit my thighs, I’m really not that far out. Continue reading